


at least i got you in my head

by underfallingflowerpetals



Series: (karushuu one-shots) [2]
Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bodyswap, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Koro-sensei Ships It, M/M, teen awkwardness, yes the title is a pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underfallingflowerpetals/pseuds/underfallingflowerpetals
Summary: “You look like you got run over by a car. Twice,” a painfully familiar, yetsomehow offvoice says.Karma turns around. Comes face to face with—himself?“Asano?” he asks, tentatively.Alternatively: For some strange, unfathomable reason, Karma and Gakushuu switch places.





	at least i got you in my head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gwendee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendee/gifts).

> I didn't plan on writing this, but then I saw the words "karushuu bodyswap au" on tumblr (on karushuu-enthusiast's blog, I think) and this thing just.. wrote itself. I wrote 1.8k in one sitting late last night, and then decided to wrap it up today. 
> 
> For gwendee, because she gives awesome pep talks, and it helped me get over some of my perfectionism about fic writing. <3

When Karma wakes up that morning, he tosses his covers aside, makes his way into the bathroom drowsily rubbing at one eye, looks into the mirror mid-yawn, and screams.

Gakushuu Asano’s face stares back at him with a matching look of horror. Karma slowly lifts a hand up and touches his cheek. In the mirror, Gakushuu does the same.

“This isn’t funny,” Karma says, out loud, to no one in particular.

No answer. His parents are gone on another business trip, and the maid had taken the day off. Karma is stuck alone, slump-shouldered in a bathroom too big for his own good. It makes him want to run and hide someplace smaller, safer. Then, he looks down, and the unexpected urge to laugh bubbles up inside him.

Gakushuu Asano wears _strawberry print underwear_ to bed. This is glorious.

He also looks very different laughing. His gaze softens, and, with his posture not so rigid and bed-mused hair, he could almost be mistaken for a normal teenager. It sparks a foreign warmth inside Karma’s chest, and the realization makes shivers run down his spine. He grimaces. Did he really just—think _any_ of that?

Karma pinches his forearm, and shuts his eyes tightly. When he opens them again, with a yelp, because _ouch, that hurt_, Gakushuu’s face is still staring back at him. It somehow manages to look very unimpressed with him, even now, although Karma can’t complain. He’s unimpressed with _himself_.

He comes to a swift decision.

Taking a deep breath, and, with a determination resembling that of a child told he’s not allowed to eat any more cookies reaching for the top-shelf cookie jar, grips the sides of the mirror with both hands. It’s a heavy, ridiculously ornate thing. Karma’s mouth wrinkles, nose scrunching up in distaste. He’s never liked his mother’s interior decorator. So many _golden accents_ and _original_ _Edwardian pieces_ and _100% silk cloth napkins_ that they never actually use.

Karma doesn’t even remember the last time he actually sat down to have dinner with his parents.

He shakes his head and sets the mirror down, facing towards the wall. Getting ready without it proves to be somewhat of a challenge, and Karma leaves the house with uncombed hair and a crooked tie.

It could be worse.

…

“You look like you got run over by a car. Twice,” a painfully familiar, yet _somehow off_ voice says.

Karma turns around. Comes face to face with—_himself_?

“Asano?” he asks, tentatively.

“At least you’re not completely useless,” apparently-Asano says. “Fix your tie, for heaven’s sake.” And then, before Karma even has a chance to blink, he’s reaching over and doing it himself, untying and retying the knot with frightening efficiency.

“What was that?” Karma asks, a little overwhelmed by—_everything_, but mostly the fact that Gakushuu’s palm is still on his chest, right over the knot of the tie, and he’s not moving away.

“That’s a half Windsor knot,” Gakushuu answers promptly, voice perfectly level. “You should learn how to tie one, it’s very useful.”

Karma laughs, a little hysterical. “Oh, my God,” he breathes. “You—you make me sound like such a _nerd_.”

Gakushuu stills, and Karma stares, watching his own face tense up. “Right. That. We should discuss our current—_predicament_.” When he says the word predicament, Gakushuu bites down on the inside of his bottom lip, and Karma’s tongue instinctively flicks over the same spot, only to find it sore.

“Are you nervous, Mr. Class President?” Karma asks, and at least this is normal. Or it should be. But Gakushuu just smirks at him, and Karma wonders if _he_ always looks that annoying when he does it.

“You’re the class president now, Akabane,” he says.

Not one to be outdone, especially by the human equivalent of malware, Karma quietly pulls away from Gakushuu’s grip, and asks, grinning lazily, hands laced behind his head, “Does that mean I can make everyone wear pink on Wednesdays now, lest they face my endless wrath?”

“That’s not how being class president works and you know it,” Gakushuu answers through gritted teeth. “Now come on, people are starting to stare.” He moves to grab Karma’s by the forearm.

“Do that, and everyone will see me dragging you around like a lapdog,” Karma says, and refuses to think about it, on principle, when the sight of Gakushuu pulling his hand away makes him feel just as disappointed as relieved.

One unnecessarily drawn-out staredown and few turns later, they’re in the boy’s bathroom, sharing one person-sized stall.

“Did we _have_ to do this?” Karma says at his own back while Gakushuu glances doubtfully at the surroundings before closing the door and turning the key. He turns to face him, and there’s barely three steps of space between them.

“This is a delicate matter,” Gakushuu says. “We cannot risk being overheard.”

“Because everybody knows high school bathroom stalls are soundproof,” Karma says, glancing at the roll of toilet paper as if waiting for it to say something in solidarity.

“It’s more private than the middle of the hallway,” Gakushuu says, stepping closer like he’s trying to prove his point.

“Which is precisely why it’s _worse_,” Karma says, taking a step of his own. “Nobody can hear anything in the middle of all that noise and people are constantly moving around.” 

Gakushuu deflates. “You might have a point,” he admits, and tries to back away, but missteps and ends up leaning on Karma to keep his balance, which Karma was very much unprepared for, and they both tumble directly into the door.

“I swear to God, if that bruised my coccyx—,” Gakushuu complains, reaching behind him to rub at his tailbone.

“Um,” Karma says, unsure how to phrase what he intends to say. “Asano, that’s my butt you’re rubbing.”

Gakushuu stops his prodding, turning a remarkable shade of red. “That’s—,” he says, then cuts himself off, looking like he’s about to boil over. Karma half expects steam to come gushing out of his ears.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Karma says, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from turning upward until he feels his eyes scrunch up a bit. “You can grab my but all you want if it makes you look like that.”

“_Please_ stop saying things like that,” Gakushuu says. “Someone could overhear and—and _misinterpret_ the events taking place.”

“Oh, _Asano_,” Karma says, in the most put-upon voice he can muster, “Does that mean you your feelings towards me have changed?”

“The only feeling I’ve ever had towards you is disgust,” Gakushuu says, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Really?” Karma asks, leaning in, teasingly, jokingly, because he’s literally staring down at himself right now, and none of it feels quite _real_.

Gakushuu backs away so fast that he slams his head into the wall. “Are you _trying_ to physically impair me?” he asks, clutching his head in his hands.

Karma winces, apologetic.

…

Attempt number two to Talk About It is a considerable improvement. After Karma convinces Gakushuu that skipping class once won’t eternally damn his soul, they leave the bathroom stall and make a graceful escape (which consists of Karma pretending to take Gakushuu to the nurse’s office for his head injury and bridal-carrying him out the window when she isn’t looking). Then, Karma, insistent that certain conversations require dessert, drags Gakushuu to his favorite frozen yogurt shop.

“Strawberries on top for you?” he asks, glancing meaningfully at Gakushuu’s waist.

Gakushuu scowls. “Those were a _gift_,” he says.

“Oooh,” Karma says, paying for his yogurt and walking to the nearest pink monstrosity of a chair, “a gift. People tend to shove gifts they don’t like in the back of their closet, right? Not, you know, wear them to bed?”

Gakushuu sits down primly after him, and—it’s plain odd, watching himself carefully spread a paper napkin on his lap and take the most pretentious spoonful of frozen yogurt one can, especially with a neon-orange plastic spoon.

“So, what else do you like to do in your free time other than wear embarrassing underwear and eat frozen yogurt like a 15th century aristocrat?” Karma asks, resting his chin on his hand, and looking up at Gakushuu. “Tell me all about yourself, sweetheart.”

“That’s not funny,” Gakushuu says.

“Of course it’s funny,” Karma counters. “I’m always funny. It’s one of the reasons we work so well. I make up for your chronically lacking sense of humor.”

“I’m not chronically lacking _anything_, Aka—,”

“Oh, you two make such a _cute_ couple,” someone squeals.

Karma freezes with a spoonful of frozen yogurt halfway to his mouth. Turns around. Blinks. “We’re not—,” he starts to say.

“Thank you,” Gakushuu interrupts. “It’s our three month anniversary.”

“Oh,” the stranger—a girl, younger than the both of them from the looks of it—says, “that’s adorable. How did you two get together?”

“He locked me in a bathroom with him,” Karma says, at once.

The girl looks confused. Gakushuu kicks him under the table.

“I mean,” Karma coughs, “we got stuck in bathroom stall together, and we started talking and, uh—”

“And by the end of it, we knew we were meant to be,” Gakushuu says, with no inflection.

The girl sighs dreamily.

…

“What the _hell_ was that?” Karma asks him the second they’re alone again.

“That,” Gakushuu says, with a deliberate pause, “was my chronically lacking sense of humor. And payback for the injuries I sustained earlier today.”

“You—you actually—oh my God,” Karma says, letting the words dissolve into laughter. “I’m glad this is only our three month anniversary because any longer and I would have felt _deceived_. I mean, it’s like I don’t know you at _all_.”

Gakushuu smiles. “You don’t, really,” he says, but it’s not reproachful.

“You don’t either,” Karma answers.

“I could,” Gakushuu says. “I mean, since…” he adds quickly, trailing off and gesturing between them.

“Oh, right,” Karma says. It seems silly to say he’d almost forgotten, what with the problem literally right in front of him, but for a second it had been—_nice_. “What did you tell your dad about, well, whatever this is?” he asks.

For some strange, unfathomable reason, Gakushuu flushes from head to toe. “He—uh, he assumed you were there because we—had become affiliated. Romantically,” he tacks on, wincing.

“Your dad thinks we’re _sleeping together_?” Karma asks, before he can think better of it and stop himself. “And he’s _okay_ with it? No firing squad or whatever?”

“He—he’s been trying to be more supportive ever since I—ever since I first discussed my preferences with him,” Gakushuu says, which Karma thinks translates to _my dad is trying to be cool about me being gay_.

“That’s—nice,” he says, awkward for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. He’d never talked to his parents about who he liked. Once, he’d told his dad about a girl in kindergarten who had offered to share her lunch with him and he’d ruffled his hair absentmindedly and wandered off to take a work call.

“It is,” Gakushuu agrees, looking just as uncomfortable as Karma feels.

“Anyway,” Karma says, “back to the important stuff. Any idea how to go back to normal?”

“We could—ask your _former instructor_ for some help,” Gakushuu suggests. “He seemed well-versed in dealing with impossible situations.”

“Of course, Koro-sensei!” Karma says, lighting up. How hadn’t _he_ thought of that— He pauses mid-thought, eyes narrowing. Wait, _Koro-sensei_—

…

“Did you do this?” Karma shouts, pulling Gakushuu along. The old school building looks empty and unused, but Karma knows all he needs to do is wait. Less than a second—and a dramatic _swoosh_—later, Koro-sensei appears, just as gleeful and yellow as ever.

“Fix it,” Karma demands, without waiting for him to say anything.

“Is that any way for you to greet your poor old teacher?” Koro-sensei asks, pulling out a floral-patterned handkerchief to wipe at the sudden tears violently gushing from his round eyes. “And to think I haven’t seen you in _ages_,” he sniffles, blowing his nose into the handkerchief.

“I came over last week for class movie night,” Karma says, unimpressed.

“_Ages_,” Koro-sensei repeats.

Karma sighs. Beside him, Gakushuu is silently staring.

“Can you help us or not?” he asks, tacking on a hasty, “Please,” when it looks like Koro-sensei is about to burst into tears anew.

“Perhaps,” Koro-sensei says, one tentacle thoughtfully rubbing at his chin while he observes them both with clinical seriousness. “Depending on what you both are willing to do.”

“Anything,” Gakushuu says hastily.

Karma resists the urge to smack him upside the head.

“Wonderful,” Koro-sensei exclaims, tentacles flailing excitedly. “This seems to be a—_metaphysical_ issue.”

“Meaning?” Karma asks, one eyebrow visibly twitching.

“Meaning it transcends the physical,” Koro-sensei says, like he’s discussing the weather. “It appears that your souls have sought each other out, causing them to—shift, as it were, into each-others’ bodies.”

“How do we fix that?” Gakushuu asks.

“That sounds like lazy writing,” Karma points out.

Koro-sensei pointedly avoids looking at him. “Well,” he says, turning to Gakushuu instead, “You’d have to figure out what it is you—the both of you—want from each other and then do that, maybe? Yes, I’m certain that might work,” he says, ardently slamming one tentacle on the open palm-like part of another. “Hopefully, that is.”

“You have no actual clue how to help, do you?” Karma asks. He can feel a headache coming on.

“You can’t rush these things, Karma,” Koro-sensei says, loudly, slinging a tentacle like an arm around both their necks and moving them closer and closer to the door. “Go on, now. Have fun, and be safe,” he calls out, waving the floral handkerchief goodbye. The door thuds closed behind them.

“It took us _a whole hour_ to climb all the way up here, you melodramatic octopus,” Karma says, waving a clenched fist at the closed door.

“Was it just me,” Gakushuu asks, throwing a suspicious glance at the same spot, “or was he a bit _eager_ to get rid of us?”

“Maybe,” Karma says. “But that’s also just how Koro-sensei is. Maybe he was looking at the newest edition of one of those magazines he pretends to read _for the articles_.”

“What—,” Gakushuu begins to ask, then the realization dawns on him, and he turns crimson all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I don’t think I’ve ever blushed this much,” Karma says. “You look like a tomato.”

“You mean _you_ do,” Gakushuu says. “It’s not my fault you were born with this unfortunate hair color.” He runs a hand through his hair, and makes a face.

“Well. I personally think I make a _superb_ tomato,” Karma says, seriously.

Gakushuu makes an abrupt sound, and it takes Karma a second, and the very helpful visual of him clutching at his sides, to realize that Gakushuu is _laughing_. Because of _him_.

“I never thought I’d hear myself say something like that,” he says, in between bouts of ridiculously loud laughter.

Watching him makes a smile bloom on Karma’s—err, Gakushuu’s?—own face. “Me neither,” he says, and then their eyes meet, and Gakushuu stops laughing, and Karma’s breath catches in his throat.

“I had fun today,” Gakushuu says then, so quietly that Karma has to lean a little closer just to make out the words.

“Yeah, me too,” Karma says, and he’s shocked to realize that he means it. “Wanna do it again tomorrow? Same place, same underwear?”

“Will you _ever_ let that go?” Gakushuu asks. “You don’t hear me saying anything about your _mango and passion-fruit_ body wash.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I have a heightened sense of smell,” Gakushuu says, strangely defensive.

Karma squints at him.

“And my dad likes the same brand.”

“Your—your _dad_?” Karma asks, incredulous.

“Yes,” Gakushuu says, glancing at his watch. “Also known as the guy you’re twenty minutes late to dinner with.”

“Unfortunate,” Karma says, making no move to begin climbing down the mountain. “So, let me get this straight—your first instinct upon waking up in my body was to—sniff me?”

“No,” Gakushuu says, weakly, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Asano,” Karma says, gleefully moving closer. “Do you have something you’d like to say to me?”

“No,” Gakushuu repeats, even weaker.

“Are you sure?” Karma asks, gripping him by the shoulders. “All those years of academic rivalry and colorful insults weren’t just—your weird _courting ritual_, were they?”

Silence.

Karma tilts his chin up.

Gakushuu doesn’t pull away.

The kiss, when it happens, is awkward and clumsy. Karma has to shut his eyes tightly, because kissing himself is strange, no matter how you look at it, but midway something _shifts_. His entire body tingles, and when he opens his eyes back up, he’s no longer staring at his own face.

“Thank God I don’t have to go have dinner with your dad,” he says, looking down at Gakushuu, barely a breath between them.

Gakushuu laughs, and pulls him in for a proper kiss.

(A few feet away, under the guise of tree leaves, unnoticed by the both them, Koro-sensei puts down a pain of—admittedly unnecessary, but aesthetically _important_—binoculars, and smiles fondly. (And absolutely does _not_ squeal.))

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to come follow me on tumbr at anny-wandering-intp.


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